Empty Altars (11 page)

The village gates opened. People poured outside to gawk at the bodies. Griswold led the way, a dark warrior by his side. The man's black hair and eyes caught Diana's attention. Everyone else she'd met was some shade of blond, other than Donar with his fiery red curls and Inga's dark locks. Olaf followed behind Griswold, supporting Gudrun on his arm.

"Not only magic," Gudrun said, "but fighting skills too. We Norse underestimated your talents, goddess."

"I'm almost as brave as Freya." Diana smiled at her Norse friend. The goddess might ooze seduction, but she had a way with weapons.

Tyr shrank to mortal size as he came to study Jorunda's wounds. After close scrutiny, he announced, "Nothing that won't heal. We can't afford to lose you. Jon—" He motioned the dark warrior to him. "Keep an eye on your friend."

People wandered between the hellhound corpses and the dead giants, ignoring the gods.

The battle over, Diana's energy drained from her. Her hands shook. Tyr came to offer his arm to support her. "We survived another day."

She leaned on him, grateful for his strength. "It could have been worse. Heid could have sent a small army of giants."

"She knew she'd lose. She knows the prophecy. I'd call Donar. Others would come."

"So this was just a skirmish?"

Tyr nodded.

"But why?" she asked. "Heid must have read the runes. She knows if she stalls, she has a better chance. Why attack now?"

"I'd guess she didn't have a choice. If she doesn't do something to keep her allies focused, they might leave or fight among themselves."

Gudrun nodded. "Heid has problems of her own. I threw the runes and saw much bickering."

"It's nice that Heid doesn't have all the advantages." Diana pushed away from Tyr to turn to the old seer. "Which reminds me. You misled me. You let me think I was to teach Inga to be a witch. She has no talent. You know that."

The old woman looked genuinely sorry. "My apologies, Roman, but I had to keep you here, and we need Inga almost as much as we need you."

"What is she to learn?" Freya asked.

"Much." At Diana’s raised eyebrow, Gudrun nodded toward Jorunda, standing with his arm around the shunned girl. She lowered her voice, not that she needed to. There was too much noise in the meadow. "The girl really
is
destined to be with her warrior, whether Griswold believed me or not."

"When did you tell him this?" Anger laced Tyr’s voice.

"Years ago, when I told him Jorunda's fate would affect our village."

"You told Griswold what you saw, and he still took Inga?"

"Our chieftain believes the runes
if
he hears what he wants to hear. He's more concerned about his power than his people."

A common political ailment, Diana knew. "He'll have
no
power if we don't defeat Heid." Even Griswold was smart enough to figure that out.

"Have you cast his fate?" Tyr's tone was grim. "Will Griswold survive this battle?"

"Yes, whether the village does or not." Gudrun looked uneasy. "May I ask, and I know I'm not worthy, but what did you see when you cast your bones, goddess?"

"You
are
worthy, and you might understand them better than I do. This is your land, your people." Diana told her the runes' six portents.

Gudrun sighed, troubled. Face pale, she reached out a hand to Diana. "I must return to the village. You should know I misled you for another reason. We need you, but not just for this battle. There will be more. Maybe not here, but at some other portal. And to win, you and Tyr must work together. That's why I demanded he visit you once a week. A silly old woman's attempt to forge a bond between you."

There was nothing silly about Gudrun. Diana frowned, disturbed by the new complications. "And that's why you had Jorunda come with him? You were throwing Jorunda and Inga together too."

The old woman smiled, glancing at the pair. "It was meant to be. But you and Tyr will determine the outcome of our world." She turned to Olaf, and the dwarf immediately offered his arm to her. They started for the village.

"Wait! Why are you telling me this now?" Diana's instincts fought worry. "Surely it would benefit you more to have Tyr keep visiting me."

"Oh, he will." The old seer's eyes clouded. "I can't cast careless words. I must throw my runes. There's more to see. Then I'll tell you."

Diana didn't like it. She watched Gudrun and Olaf return to the village, but something was wrong. She could feel it. Unlike Gudrun, she didn't know what questions to ask to find the right answers. She hoped to hear from the old seer soon.

Chapter 10

Noir slept at Diana's side. He lifted his head in the early morning hours and hissed. Diana woke in an instant. "What is it?" she asked.

The cat leapt from the bed and stalked to the kitchen. Diana followed. Noir jumped on the wooden table and touched his paw to her runes. Without question, she reached for the pouch. Once in her hand, she felt what Noir sensed. They vibrated. When she tossed them, the bones burst into song. The melodies formed a mental picture. She saw Gudrun, gasping for air.

They had no time. Diana scooped the runes into their pouch and she and Noir followed where the bones took them.

In a blink, she was in a simple, stone hut. One room. Diana got a quick impression of clutter, too much furniture in too small a space. Someone was dashing for the door. She blocked his way. The man put out his hand to push past her, and she shot energy up and down him. He fell to the floor, twitching with pain. "Watch him," she told Noir.

The cat stood near the man's head. If he were foolish enough to move, Noir would scratch out his eyes.

Diana looked around the room. Gudrun lay on a narrow, wooden bench—the type the Norse used as a bed. A deer hide served as a blanket, pulled high to keep her old bones warm. "Gudrun?" No response. Why wasn't she moving? Diana forced herself to take a few steps closer. Brittle, gray hair frizzed around her slack face. The old seer's eyes stared vacantly. Red marks circled her neck.

Too late. She'd arrived too late. Diana bit back the angry scream that fought for release. What was wrong with the Norse? No Greek would dare touch a god's chosen prophet. He'd be struck down by lightning or cursed for eternity. Did these people have no respect? No fear? But times had changed, maybe even here, in this meadow of the gods.

Fingers trembling, she reached out to close Gudrun's lids. Sweat beaded her forehead, and she realized the room was stifling. A fire crackled. Why was it that old people were always cold? Diana turned when a log popped and saw that the old seer's runes burning in the flames, past saving.

Sacrilege! She stalked across the small room and kicked the man on the floor. A rib snapped. The man cried in pain. Too nice of a punishment. He should suffer more. She could bash in his teeth, such as they were. Most rotted in his mouth. Maybe a zap of energy?

When she reached for him, he cringed and held up his hands in surrender. Callus upon callus covered his palms. Dirty, broken nails rimmed blistered fingers. Not what she'd expected. A peasant. He glanced at Noir and shivered.

Diana hesitated. She gripped her pouch of bones and held them in front of him. He scrambled backward in panic. Why would a man, so clearly superstitious, strangle the most venerated person in his village, an old woman full of magic? "Why did you kill the seer?" she demanded.

The man pressed himself against the stone wall. His body shook with fear. He hugged his arms around himself and refused to look at her.

Diana studied him. How did he work up the courage to touch Gudrun's runes when he couldn't even look at hers? Her foot itched to kick him, but she couldn't. She had to keep this lowly lout in one piece.

"Did you kill Gudrun?" she asked.

"Yes."

"Why?"

Tears trickled down his cheeks, but he pressed his lips together, refusing to speak.

She hauled him to his feet. "Don't struggle and don't annoy me, or you'll regret it. I won't kill you, but you'll wish I had. Get moving. We're going to Griswold's." Tyr was staying there. He'd know what to do with this man.

Her prisoner cowered, doing his best to match his steps to hers. He held his ribs, and when he stumbled, he flinched, ready to be zapped. He quickly righted himself, glancing at Noir as though the cat would shred him.

"Keep up!" Diana yanked him forward, but she could smell his fear. When they neared Griswold's longhouse, his steps slowed. He shrank back. She tugged at him until he slowly put one foot in front of the other.

Tyr was waiting at the door to greet them. He looked at the three of them—Diana, Noir, and their captive—and wordlessly led them to the meeting room.

"I have sad news." She didn't wait for others to arrive. She'd rather tell Tyr and let him explain to Griswold and his warriors. When she reported Gudrun's murder, Tyr's hand clenched. His jaw set. When she told about the charred runes, he turned his back to her, fighting for composure.

When he turned again, his voice was calm. "You stopped this man from running away?"

"Yes."

Tyr studied the peasant from head to toe—the rotting teeth, the filthy clothes. "You've known much poverty." His voice remained level, almost sympathetic. The man trembled under his scrutiny. "You've committed a crime against man and gods. What do you have to say for yourself?"

The man couldn't meet his gaze. He lowered his head and remained silent.

"Speak up, slave. Better now than when the others arrive."

"Slave?" Diana looked at her captive with new interest.

"When a free man cannot pay his debts, he pays the price," Tyr told her. He returned his gaze to the man standing before him. "Why did you commit this crime? What say you?"

"Nothing, my lord."

Tyr frowned. "Have you no respect for me?"

The man dropped to his knees. "I revere you as much as I do Woden. You are our champion, our hero."

"And yet you slay my seer? You burn her runes?"

Silence.

Tyr reached down and offered the man his hand. "Who are you? Where do you dwell?"

The slave pulled back. "I am not worthy to touch you."

Footsteps sounded in the hallway. Tyr and Diana glanced at the arch that led to the chieftain's private rooms. A maidservant—old, but not bent—motioned for someone to hurry, and Griswold burst toward them, his tunic crooked, his hair wild. Jorunda and the dark warrior Diana had seen before accompanied him.

"Hlif woke me. Sorry for my appearance." Griswold wheezed. "She rushed me from my bed. How may I serve you?" He stretched out a hand and Jorunda led him forward.

"I was asking this slave his name and occupation," Tyr said.

"Snorri?" Griswold dismissed the man. "He cares for my livestock."

"Then you know of no reason he'd kill Gudrun?"

"What?" Griswold stared.

Jorunda stiffened, his expression one of disbelief.

"Diana captured him in Gudrun's hut. He strangled our good seer and burned her runes."

Jorunda's face went pale. His eyes burrowed into Snorri's, and Snorri looked away.

"This is how you repay my kindness?" Griswold lurched forward. He wrapped his fingers in Snorri's matted hair. He yanked his head up, forcing the slave to look at him. "Betrayer! Murderer! Go to Hel." Before anyone saw his knife, Griswold pulled it from its sheath and slashed it across Snorri's throat.

Snorri crumpled. Blood pooled beneath him. Jorunda ran to kneel at his side. He put a finger to Snorri's neck, looked at Tyr, and shook his head.

"Stupid!" Tyr grabbed the chieftain and lifted him off the floor. He shook him like a rag.

"I have no seer," Griswold whined. "How will I know the future? Make plans? Protect myself?"

Tyr shook his head, disgusted. "Diana or I could have killed Snorri, if we chose. We wanted to question him."

"Why?"

Tyr wrinkled his nose and turned his face. "Your breath is foul. You've been drinking." He lowered Griswold to the floor and pushed him away.

Griswold swayed on his feet, his face contorted in thought. He motioned toward the warriors. "I stayed in the hall late with Jorunda and Jon, discussing strategy."

Tyr studied the two Norse who'd returned to Griswold's side. They appeared steady and sober. "Did either of you know this man?"

Jorunda spoke. "Two years ago, Snorri's longhouse burned to the ground. He escaped with his daughter. His wife and three other children died in the fire. He fell on dark times. Couldn't work. He lived in the barn with his animals until…." Jorunda grimaced. He glanced sideways at Griswold.

"What would you have had me do?" Griswold bellowed. "Let him raise his daughter in a turf shed with his pigs?"

Diana spoke for the first time. "Was this daughter young and beautiful?"

"What of it?" Griswold challenged.

"And this daughter?" Tyr persisted. "Did she help her father with the livestock?"